all our flying parts
by ElectricClover
Summary: SiriusRemus —- love is lost and people are not who you thought they were. fourteen years is too long a time and the regret and the apologies still hang unspoken between them.


_A/N: Written for the Houses Competition. Big love to my lovelies AJ, 2D, and Holly for the betas. Also, this is an AU where there was never a Fidelius Charm, just a traitor._

 _House: Ravenclaw_

 _Category: Themed (Jealousy)_

 _Prompt: "H-how long have you been standing there?"_

 _Word Count (excluding a/n): 3606_

* * *

Rain rattles the thin windows of their flat, as it has done for as long as Remus can remember. His fingers tap out an impatient dance on the worn wood of the kitchen table, and the slight rustle of his newspaper seems deafening amidst the thick silence of the empty kitchen. The kettle whistles, shrill and sharp. Remus jumps.

It's his third cup of tea that evening, and he knows he can't keep coming up with things to keep himself occupied. Soon, he will have to go to bed, which means accepting that Sirius has not come home. Again.

He sighs, drawn out and weary, heaves himself out of the wooden chair and trudges into the kitchen, wiping a tired hand over his face. The chipped linoleum of the counter is covered in a layer of dust, another sad reminder of Sirius' absence. He's usually the one who does all the cleaning.

"I'm your kept housewife, Moony," he used to joke, back when they could still find things to laugh about. "I cook, and I clean. I sit around all day just _waiting_ for you to come home and ravish me…"

The memory stings, and he pushes it from his mind. Sometimes, it is easier to pretend that they were never as happy as they had been, that the memories he remembers so fondly belong to someone else. That way, it's not as clear that he is only living a shadow of the life he once had, now that the glowing light of Sirius is gone.

That way, he isn't as aware of all that he's lost. He feels a strange envy towards that person from his past and towards every way in which his life had been better. The jealousy rises up in him constantly, when he sees couples kissing on the street, or when he glances at old pictures. The person in those photographs never knew how lucky he was, to still have the world at his fingertips, to still be young, and naive, and completely in love.

He automatically takes a sip of his too-hot tea, scalding his tongue. It's Darjeeling, Sirius' favourite. He had insisted that it was refined, sophisticated, so very grown-up. Also, he thought that it tastes remotely pleasant, an opinion Remus still disagrees with. Remus prefers a good Earl Grey, but he had never been able to say no to Sirius.

"Dammit!" The tea spills over the rim of his mug, staining his moth-eaten jumper. He'll have to wash it now, something he's been desperately avoiding. Sirius had worn it once when he was chilly, months ago now, and it still smells faintly of him. Like cigarette butts, and motorcycle grease, and lemon-scented shampoo. Remus takes off the jumper and holds it to his face, breathing in deeply. He misses that smell.

Suddenly, his ears catch a sound coming from the stairwell outside their flat. His chest tingles with excitement, the sound of multiple peoples' footsteps unmistakably clear. Maybe, just maybe, it's Sirius, and Lily, and James, and Peter, and everything that has happened over the last few months is some great big joke that no one had happened to tell him about.

The footsteps pass him by, moving up the stairs and to the flat above him, a door opening with a _click_. A flood of laughter and music tumbles out from the upstairs rooms and floats down the stairwell. His stomach twists unpleasantly, jealousy sour and sharp in his mouth. He used to be like that, used to laugh like that, live like that. Now, he has nothing, and it's a bitter pill to swallow. Abruptly, the third floor apartment's door bangs shut, and a loud silence washes over him. The air feels saturated with it, layer after layer of distrust and suspicion weighing down on him.

They still think he's a traitor, still think he works as a spy in the Order because of petty envies he'd had as a first year, worries that James and Sirius were better wizards than him, somehow more human. War causes you to grasp at straws, Remus supposes, but that doesn't make their suspicion any less painful, any less suffocating.

Remus sticks his head out of the open window and takes a gulp of night air, banishing the uncomfortable thoughts from his mind. The sky is already pitch-black and dotted with stars, and he should really be getting some sleep. He walks into their bedroom and changes quickly, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror, for fear of not recognising the man staring back at him.

Eyes wide and awake and already regretting his third tea, he collapses on top of his duvet, the duvet they used to share. There is a skylight over their bed, positioned just so. They used to stare up at the night sky together, Sirius reciting the names of the constellations he'd learned as a child, pointing out his namesake every night, so Remus knows exactly where it lies. Now, Remus can only see the moon, hanging low and heavy in the sky. It looks like as if trying to warn him. _Danger!_ it screams, but that is nothing new. Remus ignores it, and stares at Canis Major instead, its brightest star a beacon of hope against the velvet night.

He can't get to sleep, the steady _tick_ of the clock deafening amidst the hush of the early morning. Sunrise is already painting the sky warm hues of red and gold when tiredness claims him, and he drifts off into an uneasy sleep. It's the only sleep he can get these days.

When he wakes up, he stretches out an arm, his not quite awake brain hoping to feel Sirius' familiar presence beside him. He does not, of course, and resigns himself to another long day alone in the flat. Even Dumbledore doesn't trust him enough to give him jobs anymore. He almost yearns for those days of fleeing from place to place, death snapping hungrily at his heels. At least he didn't have time to think so much, not back then. He feels a twinge of envy towards his friends, towards the rest of the Order. They can go on a simple surveillance mission without being accused of working for Lord Voldemort.

He makes porridge and eats it on the balcony, taking deep inhales of the stale London air. Overnight, a thick fog has shrouded the city, and, though he doesn't know why, it makes Remus nervous. Without the soothing presence of Sirius beside him, there is no one to calm him down, and he desperately needs something to steady his trembling hands. He reaches towards his pocket and brings out a packet of Pall Malls, the shape all too familiar in his fingers. Before Sirius, he never smoked, but now it seems as necessary as breathing. He lights up and takes a long drag, the smoke dancing enticingly in the air when he finally exhales. Before he knows it, he has finished every last one.

"Bloody buggering hell," he mumbles to himself, and pats down his pockets for some extra change. He has a couple of quid in change and a tenner; more than enough for some fags and the groceries he has been putting off buying. Whenever he ventures out to the corner shop, the kindly lady who owns the store always asks where his handsome friend has been lately. _He's busy_ is always the answer Remus gives. He misses the days when the only questions they were asked were whether or not they'd like a plastic bag, or if they'd like to purchase a lottery ticket. Things were simpler, then, and he feels a pang of _need_ for it to be that way again.

Knowing that he can't live off cigarettes, porridge and baked beans forever, he grabs his coat and keys, and lets himself out of the flat. As he walks down the stairwell, there is another couple meandering up in the opposite direction. Their entwined, wrapped around each other, and Remus can't tell where one person ends and the other begins. They pause, and press up against the iron railing, kissing and chuckling and murmuring into the other's ears. Remus stops, bile rising in his throat. It burns his mouth, acidic and biting, and he feels like the air has been knocked out of his lungs. Jealousy overwhelms him, and he can do nothing but look, _think_ , about the way things used to be. He would give _anything_ to be so happy, just like the painful reminder in front of him.

He manages to let out a choked, "Excuse me," and squeezes past them, and out onto the street.

The October air bites at his skin, and he knows his nose must have turned pink. Sirius always used to tease him about that. Slowly, he trudges his way up Highgate Hill and into the Village. Orange and black streamers adorn the shop windows and Remus realises with a start that tonight is Hallowe'en. It used to be their favourite time of the year - a time of legendary pranks and parties. Remus wonders idly if he should pay a visit to Godric's Hollow, if only for old times sake.

Sirius is probably there right now, Remus realises, a familiar sensation bubbling up in his chest. He is so accustomed to it that he wouldn't be surprised if his eyes had turned green overnight. That would be rather ironic too, seeing as all of his friends already think of him as a snake, capable of feeding information to the enemy, of betraying his dearest friends. All because of childhood insecurities, because he'd been ever so slightly jealous of James and Sirius when he was still a young boy. How were they to know those thoughts never lingered long?

At some party or another, though he can't remember exactly when as each memory blurs into another, a result of too much firewhiskey and excitement, Peter had been voted most likely to be a Slytherin in disguise. It hadn't gone down well, Peter being in a constant state of quiet envy over Sirius and James' almost excessively Gryffindor tendencies. He almost chuckles at the thought of that timid little boy, now pouring himself into the Order, whilst caring for a sick mum. He was no traitor. All in all, the epitome of a Lion, Peter, not that any of them had expected it. Remus realises that he almost feels envious about what Peter has managed to achieve. The reality he is living is not quite how he'd thought his life would go, if he was being truthful.

Lost in thought, he quickly makes it to the off-licence, but too fast for it to use up even a fraction of his day. Rather a waste of perfectly good procrastination, then. The smiling woman is not there, but a sullen teenager who does not make eye contact, nevermind conversation. It is stifling inside the store, heating turned up to full blast to combat the autumn chill, and Remus is glad when he finally steps back outside.

As he makes his way back towards their flat, he starts to shiver. The cold seems to gnaw away at him, seep into his bones, and the Victorian style houses loom over him, menacing, threatening. They look down on him, judging his every move. It must be his imagination, a product of being alone for so long, but he is definitely unnerved. His pace quickens, the pavement disappearing beneath his feet until he is back home, the door slammed tightly shut behind him. But, even in the safety of his own living room, he can't shake the feeling that something is very, very wrong.

The hours pass, the itching in his gut growing more persistent with every passing second. He settles onto the threadbare couch to read a novel, and it takes him a good few minutes to realise it is upside down.

Eventually, he can take it no longer.

He grabs his cloak, suddenly far too conscious of the fraying at the hem and the darning on the sleeves, and puts on his boots. In a rare moment of vanity, he dashes into their poky ensuite bathroom and runs his fingers through his hair in front of the mirror, desperately trying to flatten it, or to at least do _something_ with it. When it finally looks somewhat acceptable, though he counted a great deal more grey hairs than the last time Sirius had seen him, he steels his nerves and apparates away with a _pop_.

His feet hit the cobbles hard, jolts of pain shooting up his knees. He grimaces momentarily, before looking up as the first coating of snow dusts his coat. It is rather early, but there is a disconcerting sharpness to the air, even more so than back in London. Unseasonably cold weather, really.

He apparated to a point on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, a short walk to Lily and James'. He loves walking through the village, the quaint homes reminding him of the picturesque valleys of his youth. He'd always wanted to live somewhere remote, maybe not Wales, but somewhere on the Norfolk coast. Sirius, of course, would have been so against the idea that Remus never even brought it up. He had a spark in him, a certain fire not suited to a peaceful cottage by the seaside.

It's ironic, Remus thinks, how he ends up living in London, surrounded by the business, the buzz of nightlife, the relentless crowds, and Sirius settles in a charming little house with a thatched roof. Almost as if Sirius is living the life Remus had always, and still, dreams of. To Remus, it seems slightly unfair, and he feels a sharp stab of jealousy hit him straight in the heart.

A faint glimmer in the air, light bending in a way it shouldn't around the cascade of snowflakes, lets him know he has arrived. He closes his eyes, and just pictures it, the house, roof covered in a blanket of snow, steam rising from the small chimney, warm lights coming from each window.

When he opens them, it is there.

The huge living room windows look onto the street, and the curtains have been flung wide open, so Remus can see _everything_.

Pumpkins adorn every spare surface, their faces morphing and changing, the tealight inside flickering from one colour to the next. No doubt James' doing, what with it looking like something a five-year-old might have come up with. He is dancing with Lily, twirling her and spinning her around the room, until they are just a blur of auburn and dark hair, of flushed, happy faces. They look eighteen again, Remus thinks, hopeful that good will triumph and love will conquer all. At the sight of them, now collapsed onto the floor in fits of breathless laughter, Remus hopes that, for Merlin's sake, it does. Even so, he can't help but feel envious of the times they all used to share, _together_.

But then they get up, and James swings his arms around her, dips her low into a kiss. With his old friends looking so deliriously happy, every last shred of jealousy slips away, until he can't remember his reasons in the first place. They are both the best of people, and maybe it was always meant to turn out that way. Maybe, he only had the chance to know them for a small fragment of time, and maybe that was okay.

He turns to walk away, when his ears pick up the sound of a curtain twitching, of a toddler's petulant cries. Confused, he glances up, and, between a pair of crimson drapes, is Sirius. He looks much thinner than Remus remembers. He has an inane moment of worry - is he eating enough? Because sometimes he doesn't, and you've got to _make sure_ , otherwise Sirius'll claim he just forgets, even though he doesn't, he just won't eat when things go wrong, like after the prank…

Suddenly, Sirius is right in front of him, and Remus has the urge to just reach out and touch him, to hold him and never let go, because it feels like it has been _forever_ , but then he notices the look in Sirius' eyes. It is hard, and cold, and says _if you try to hurt my pack_ , I will kill you. Remus wonders when that pack stopped including him.

Probably when they first thought he was a green-eyed monster, betraying his friends to Voldemort because of jealousy, the bitterness that comes when you are not quite the same. Funny, that. In the end, their distrust caused him to turn into the very beast they had imagined him to be.

"H-how long have you been standing there?" Sirius' voice wavers slightly, and Remus wonders if it is from fear, or the icy night. It must be the latter, because Sirius could _never_ be afraid of him, right?

"How long have you been standing there?" He says again, but this time it is a demand, it is an order, no longer a question. But now Remus can hear it, the tremor hidden beneath his old friend's words that tells him that Sirius is afraid, no, _petrified_. Sirius, who was once happy spending countless nights frolicking around with a goddamn werewolf, is now terrified of him. Remus' throat feels tight and he can't force out any words. He's choking, gasping for air. Sirius, asks again, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. "What do you want?"

Remus skitters backwards, feet slipping on the icy pavement. He is panicking, gasping for air. "I-I just, I'm sorry-" His words trip over themselves, spilling haphazardly out of his mouth. "I'll go, yes, this was a bad idea."

"I think you should." Sirius' jaw clenches, eyes narrow. "We're not going to let you hurt Harry."

Remus' eyes flicker upwards, confused. "Excuse me, but _Harry_?" Lily and James are standing just inside the door to their home, wands drawn. Harry is bundled in a blanket in Lily's arms, and Remus can almost feel the crackle of protective magic surrounding the baby. "You think I want to _hurt_ Harry? He's the closest thing to a son I've got."

Sirius scoffs derisively. "I don't know who you think you're fooling, _Lupin_." He spits out Remus' name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. "We know _everything_ , and I think you should leave. Now."

Remus does, each small remaining sliver of hope sliding away, completely defeated. He barely makes it past the white fence at the end of their front garden before apparating away.

* * *

"Alright, mate?" James asks Sirius, his voice suggesting he already knows the answer. "Look, we've known for ages. I know it's complete shit, but this doesn't change anything. Maybe we should just go back-"

"Yeah," Sirius cuts him off hastily, all traces of anger wiped from his face. He can't help but look at Lily and James leaning into each other for support, and feel a stab of jealousy in his chest. He would give anything to have that again. "Yeah, thanks, Prongs, but I just need…" His unspoken words hang heavily in the air. All three of them know what he really needs. "I'm just going to nip out on the bike. I'll be back soon though, five minutes."

James pulls his friend into a tight hug, letting Sirius bury his face in his shoulder. He lets out a muffled sob, then pulls back and rubs his stinging eyes.

James and Lily wave farewell as he flies off into the night, before walking back inside. Lily goes upstairs to put Harry to bed, and James forgets to lock the door behind them.

* * *

Remus leans against the doorframe of Sirius' room in Grimmauld Place and smiles fondly. Sirius is sprawled like a dog across his bed, flipping through an old photo album. Remus sees a young Peter sidling up towards James and Sirius, envy dripping from his plain features. Remus only wishes he'd noticed it sooner. He sits beside Sirius, and they talk for what feels like forever, of old memories and new, of the Order meetings taking place just below them.

It is nice, though not quite the same. Remus doubts it will ever be. Fourteen years is too long a time. The regret and the apologies are all unspoken, still stretched tightly between them after years of running and hiding and lying low at Lupin's.

Sirius looks up and, with that smile, that glorious smile, the years fall away.

"How long have you been standing there?" He asks, and Remus steps forward, still unsure.

"Too long?" It sounds like a question, and Remus is hoping that Sirius has the answer, because he sure as hell doesn't. It seems he does, seems he no longer sees Remus as the awkward boy from their childhood, or the green-eyed, envy-filled monster from when everything went so very wrong. He gets up off the bed, bridges the chasm between them, and stands so close Remus can hear his heartbeat, the steady tick perfectly in time with his own. Sirius smells of cigarette butts, and motorcycle grease and lemon-scented shampoo, and Remus kisses him, because _why not_?

Sirius tastes like Darjeeling, which Remus doesn't mind so much anymore, and he tastes like _home_.

When they break apart it is agony, but the delicious kind, that makes everything else so much sweeter. Remus looks at the face of the man he loves, old and lined, but still just the way he remembers it, and says with complete conviction, "For far, far, too long."


End file.
